


Springhope Hall

by Silberias



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, for blue because she is fabulous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 09:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8484586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: Sansa's parents are now both dead, her brother's rebellion fizzled and quelled, and the Lannisters--Tywin and Tyrion--decide to teach her a lesson about her place in the world. So Sansa is married to Podrick Payne and sent away.





	1. Wedded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueCichlid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueCichlid/gifts).



> BlueCichlid you are fabulously kind and giving. There's not much I can really give other than some fic, and I only hope that you like it! Everyone else: this is just a flash fic, fluffy and sweet.

It was not so bad, being married to Podrick Payne. The wedding had been horrible, and there had been no lock on the door of the bedchamber—but her husband, more boy than man just as she was more girl than woman, had been clever and put a thick blanket over them and mimed what they were supposed to be doing. He’d even pinched the sensitive skin on her side a few times to make her whimper and wince. His cock had never even left his breeches. Those who came into the chamber, following their king, had cheered when she flinched and twitched, egging her husband on and jeering when he gasped and groaned and fell on her heavily. 

Once they’d left Podrick had rolled to her side and put a finger to her lips, shaking his head once. No questions. He held her, tightly when she shook from nerves or nightmares, and though he was a little awkward about things in the morning he was nonetheless kind. He fetched them some food, for they had no servants as yet though the Hand of the King had promised them a living somewhere in the Westerlands. A keep, to preside over the local smallfolk and live on the taxes and rents. 

A far distance to fall for the daughter of Eddard Stark—married to a minor cousin of a Westerlander house, given a keep which had no name, to live on onions and hogs. 

But it was not so bad, truly, for Podrick was still a member of the Imp’s household and as such he was busy most days—sheepishly sharing some of his duties with her, such as mending Lord Tyrion’s clothing and planning meals. Without a wife the son of Lord Tywin needed his some-time squire’s help more often than not. Sansa avoided the Imp’s chambers, though, disliking the way the man’s eyes followed her. Queen Cersei had told her, overseeing her hair being braided for her wedding, that giving her to Lord Tyrion had been seriously considered before instead promising her to Podrick. Perhaps the halfman had known of such ideas and Sansa did not want to be caught alone with him for that reason among many. 

Sansa much preferred her husband whose smiles were slow on his face when she would make a sly jape at the expense of this lord or that. Nights were still hard, for they had little privacy from one another in their small chamber, but sleeping next to him grew easier as the weeks passed. So much so that one morning she woke up to him propped up on one elbow, trailing the back of one finger along the hair at her temple. He froze when she opened her eyes, his mouth dropping open before he shut it with an uncomfortable swallow. 

“I’m sorry my l—”

“Don’t be,” Sansa interrupted him, taking his hand and holding it between hers. It was warm, a little damp on the palm. The hand of a boy, not a man. But his nails were clean, and his touch light. 

“You’re prettier than I deserve, you’re kind, and—”

Sansa leaned up a little and kissed him, just a short press of her lips to his. 

It wasn’t fair that she was married to him, that he was married to her. But he was good to her. Probably because he didn’t know how to be bad yet, but it was better than she’d expected after the betrothal to Joffrey had been broken. She would teach him to be good, to her and to the smallfolk they’d be given to look after. 

“Okay,” he breathed, his eyes wide as he stared at her. 

She smiled at him, reaching one hand up to lightly stroke the side of his face. 


	2. Buried

When the King told her of what happened at the Twins, of what they’d done—Podrick had had bruises on his arm from where her fingers had dug into his skin for a week. She’d hidden her weeping that night in the crook of his neck, huge gulping sobs that left the air under their blanket humid and close. He’d petted her hair, with hesitant and jerky motions. Podrick was the closest to anyone she knew here who could possibly understand. He’d told her of Ser Cedric, and Ser Lorimer, who had both died. He’d seen their deaths. Like she’d seen Father’s. 

She was now as much an orphan as he. 

Shortly after the news they were summoned to a meeting with Lord Tywin—in his function as the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, rather than that of the Hand of the King. There was an ugly light in his eyes as he bid Sansa to sit, addressing Podrick by the title given him by the King—Ser Podrick of House Payne. A landed knight with no land. She was, merciful or not, still a Stark of Winterfell. The last of her kind, and Winterfell was no longer hers or in the possession of anyone she loved.

“Ser Podrick, after consulting with the King it has been decided you will be created the master of Tarbeck Hall which will be restored by House Lannister in gratitude for your services during the attack on King’s Landing by the rebel Stannis Baratheon.”

Sansa felt her stomach lurch. She tried to keep her face neutral, fighting for control. 

“It would have to be renamed of course, upon your arrival there. And I will have to ask you to swear your fealty to House Lannister. Today. We cannot let your wife’s traitorous blood, mixed with the memories of that place, give you any ideas.”

Her jaw ached from how hard she clenched it shut, her breaths short and shallow as Podrick awkwardly knelt beside the chair she sat in. He only stuttered a little as he said the words his lord required of him. The old lion’s eyes glittered, staring both of them down, and she felt like a puppet on strings when it was required of her to stand and curtsy to the man who had ordered her mother’s death. Who had arranged for Robb’s murder. 

Podrick thanked Lord Tywin again and again, ushering her away—she leaned heavily on him, afraid and defeated at the prospect of her life. Tarbeck Hall. It would always be Tarbeck Hall, no matter what anyone named it—and she would live there. The daughter of traitors sent to live in a traitor’s keep. The one hope she’d had, after marrying Podrick, was living a life of anonymity where people would forget her and she would be left alone in her grief. Her children would take Podrick’s name, to give them safety where hers offered none, and her grandchildren would only remember dimly the horrors of her youth. 

“Sansa? Sansa—Sansa,” Podrick’s voice was panicked, startled as she nearly fainted upon reaching their room. She tried to keep her eyes open but just couldn’t. The next moment she was being carried across the room to their little bed, her husband breathing hard through his nose as he held her high and close. His mouth was a hard flat line as he concentrated on not dropping her. As he settled her on the bed he realized she was conscious again

“I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know. Lord Tyrion, he—he said there would be a reward, for saving his life at the Blackwater—I—” 

“Just—just be still a moment, please.” It was all she wanted, for them to leave her alone to breathe for ten minutes all together. For no one to glance at her with that look in their eyes—like she was a mongrel dog allowed to sit in a refined lap. Or the pity. She was growing tired of the pity. Podrick was good at being there and quiet and doing it without pity. 

He sat on the edge of the bed and laid his hand on her arm, his thumb sweeping slowly across her sleeve. Back and forth, otherwise completely still as he looked down at her. He was a knight for her sake, and moments like this she felt it. The Queen had put it into Joffrey’s ear to publicly knight him, the day before their wedding, and he went through life now as Ser Podrick. To make him a better equal to a wife of her standing, though it had been little more than a jape to everyone else. 

Lord Tyrion visited them later on, bearing an accounting of what their household would be and when they would be leaving. They would stay at the Rock until the basic repairs were completed to Tarbeck Hall, safe from any last warring bands left over from the nastiness in the Riverlands. He called it nastiness with a straight face, as though his own family hadn’t engineered the destruction of hers. Sansa mostly sat, embroidering a shawl with the purple and white chequy of Podrick’s house. The coins she did in yellow thread, there being no money to provide for golden thread as would be proper. 

Podrick nodded a lot, and it was a hesitant movement as he grasped Lord Tyrion’s arm when the man congratulated him on his good fortune. 

“You were a good squire, Pod, you will be a good lord. You, and your lady too.” His smile was crooked but as warm as a Lannister’s could be, “Practice up with your spear though, there will be many who will want your bride for themselves.” It was teasing but that gleam was in his eye again that Sansa avoided meeting, intently staring down now a her sewing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	3. Traveled

A wagon was their transportation, surrounded by a great deal of Lannister guards. Lord Tyrion rode at the head of the column with his sellsword companions, and Sansa made sure to huddle close to Podrick. It would be three weeks before they made it to Casterly Rock, and maybe months before Tarbeck Hall was in any condition to be lived in. As was his fast-growing habit, Podrick put his arm around her and stroked his thumb along her shoulder. 

The route they took was not the fastest but instead the safest, through the Reach along the Roseroad before swinging northwards. Sansa was glad they would be spared the Riverlands, it would be entirely too painful she was sure. Besides, there were roving bands of brigands and rebels—nothing any of them wanted to run into. Lord Tywin would not sacrifice his son or his hostage that lightly. If their heads were meant for pikes both she and Lord Tyrion would have been decoration long ago. 

Nights on the road, Sansa quickly found, were intimidating. When she’d come south, with her father and their household, it had been a grand adventure. She was betrothed to the crown prince—she would be queen, her future assured, her father recognized for all his virtues and life of service to his king. When it had gone awry at Darry she had had her first taste of what her life would be like, though she hadn’t fully known it yet. Now though she understood her life and because she understood it she dreaded the late afternoons when the company would halt for the day. The tents were pitched and she was surrounded by three dozen men with only her husband—little more than a boy—to defend her. Well, Podrick and Lannister honor but Sansa did not trust in such a thing as Lannister honor. 

One morning, shortly after the company turned north towards Crakehall, Sansa woke up with a hardness pushing into her thigh from behind and she’d nearly screamed before she realized that it was only Podrick. So she laid there, frozen as her mind raced, until Podrick himself woke up. He was incredibly embarrassed and awkward, apologizing profusely until Sansa put her hand gently over his mouth—his dark brown eyes reminded her then of Jory’s, before the man had been murdered. Intelligent, soft, loyal. 

He was hers, she slowly realized, he belonged to her utterly. It was not the best start to her life, a husband who couldn’t protect her, but the Lannisters could have given her a lot worse than Podrick Payne. 

“We will make a life together—a real life, with children and grandchildren—despite the things that have been done. I—I will get used to it. It is not as though you tore off my smallclothes and attacked me,” she took a risk and threaded the fingers of her other hand into his hair, liking how dark it was against her pale skin. Sansa lowered the hand she’d had on his mouth, cupping his cheek. 

“I would never do that my—”

“Sansa, please call me Sansa when we are by ourselves.”

Podrick’s smile was hesitant then but earnest, and Sansa took a deep breath before leaning up to kiss him. It was not very innocent, but it wasn’t very much of anything else either. Not enough to get them into trouble but the feel of his lips on hers was nice. He certainly knew what he was doing, and he was sweet to her. She resolved herself to be happy with him, whatever it took. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!!


	4. Chapter 4

Having been abandoned for more than a generation, Tarbeck Hall—redubbed Springhope, though Sansa made sure to remind herself of the place’s past—was much more ruined than Lord Tyrion had anticipated and repairs had taken more than half a year before there was enough livable space for them and the household that had been scrounged up for them from Lannisport. 

Two years passed them by, the winter beginning to settle around them and their tiny keep near the Crag. Both Sansa and Podrick endeavored to forget the war that had thrown them together. The world retreated, becoming far away, while they grew to know one another enough to do much more than kiss. It had hurt when Podrick took her for the first few times but he’d always begged her to tell him how to do better—eventually she was able to enjoy sharing her bed with him, basking in the ways he made her feel. Lord Tyrion had had him educated in the ways of pleasure and for that she chose to be grateful. The Lannisters had meant to give her a boy who knew nothing of anything, instead she got an almost-man who knew a little about most things—with an uncommon talent for bedsport.

When King Stannis Baratheon came down from the North with her bastard brother he came to Springhope after subduing the Crag. Sansa was six month’s gone with her husband’s child when she and Podrick greeted the King. There was nothing in the Baratheon man’s eyes as he took in their little household, but there was something like acceptance and understanding in Jon’s eyes as he greeted her. Podrick was stilted and mechanical as he showed the King into the keep, and in his look Sansa for the first time doubted him. Would he stand up for her if the King or Jon demanded she leave their home? 

Winterfell was a husk, the last she’d heard, and Sansa did not want to return there to shiver and suffer. 

King’s Landing was not much better, filled with nightmares as it was. 

A banishment to each of these places was within the power of this wraithlike king come out of the frozen north, would Podrick fight for her against such intimidation?

That night her fears almost seemed confirmed when she came into the small chamber they would sleep in for the duration of the king’s visit—their own bed being given over for his use at this time. Podrick was still dressed, sitting in a chair before the fire with a goblet of mead in his hand. Neither of them had much of a taste for the stuff but it was certainly nice to sip on late at night when it was cold. A man brooding over his cup was never good, though, and Sansa took a fortifying breath before drawing his attention. 

“Podrick?”

Her lovable husband made a storming comeback then as her soft voice startled him badly enough that he spilled half his mead as he jumped up to stand. 

“Sansa! You—I thought you—Lord Jon, he, ah—um. Uhm.” He closed his mouth, clearing his throat as he stared at her. She made her way close to him and took the cup from his fingers, sipping at it to warm her mouth for what she was going to ask of him. 

“You must—”

“I will—I will, Sansa, I—I’ve never been as happy, ever, as I have been since we came here but I knew I couldn’t keep you. I will let you go, I won’t jail you.” She stared at him, their eyes almost level to one another, and couldn’t help the sad smile that tugged at her lips. If she didn’t love him already she would have to now if only for those words. 

“No, Podrick, you haven’t jailed me. You’ve freed me, you keep me safe. Now,” she set aside the goblet and stepped even closer to him to take his hand, laying it across the top of her belly, “you have to make sure I stay by your side. Here. Whatever the King asks, whatever Jon asks, I want to stay here with you. Please.”

Podrick stared at her, his mouth opening and closing slowly. To make her point Sansa pressed his hand down harder on her belly to wake up the child so it would push and fight too—rewarded quickly enough when a foot kicked up at her, followed elsewhere by an elbow or fist. Her husband swallowed thickly, eyes darting everywhere before he sucked in a huge breath and nodded rapidly. Sansa held back a sob, turning to fit herself against his side and hugging him tightly. The repressed sob turned into hiccups, an occurrence that Podrick was well used to after the last few years, and he soon sat on the bed with her in his lap. He whispered sweet little nothings into her ear, cuddling sweetly into the late hours of the night. 

To their relief neither Jon nor his chosen king asked for anything like Sansa had imagined. He had them each, separately, swear allegiance to the Crown, and required that Sansa both recognize Jon as the newly created Lord Stark and renounce her and her child’s claims to Winterfell. Watching the army ride further south to Casterly Rock a few weeks later Sansa knew it was a small price to pay. The North would always follow the blood of the Starks—renounced claims or not—should the need arise. It was a formality to appease a king, nothing more. Joffrey had had worse caprices when she was in King’s Landing. 

The first Springhope Stark was born not three months later, given his father’s name to guide him through his life. He was not the last of the Springhope Starks, nor was he the only son, but Podrick Stark was certainly the most famous of them. Brave, dutiful, and loyal he was named the greatest sword of the Westerlands, later wedding to quiet advantage from among distant Karstark cousins. On his wedding day his mother took a long moment alone with him. 

Sansa sat next to her son, who looked more and more like his father with every day, and took his hand between hers. He’d seen eighteen namedays. More than Robb had seen, and her little Rick was older now than she and Podrick had been when they married. She had tried to prepare him for the caprices to be had outside their little hamlet of peace, but now he was entering a new phase of his life. Tomorrow he would leave Springhope for King’s Landing with his new wife to accept the offer of King Stannis to become the Warden of the West. 

“My boy,” she said, tweaking his cheek a bit to make him blush, “you must be brave. Marriage is about bravery, just as much as it is about being loyal to your wife. Please remember to be brave, to always choose what is right and decent in all the doings of your life.”

“I will, Mother,” he replied, an embarrassed smile tracing his lips—Sansa stopped him saying more, though, with a tiny shake of her head. 

“But your grandparents, and your uncles, died for their bravery. Don’t be stupid with it, Rick. I would have you sent back here whole and in disgrace rather than a box of boiled bones.”

“Whole and in disgrace, yes Mother,” he said, pretending to bow low in his seat. 

“That’s my boy,” Sansa laughed, standing and kissing his hairline. 

All was well. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah--flash fic! Little tiny sweet happy fic. Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!!


End file.
